Never Forget
by Mizuni-no-neko
Summary: When America receives the news that Bin Laden has been taken out, he isn't sure what to feel. But Russia knows that he's going to need his support more than ever. T for...language, I think. Probably more like K


Okay so...I've kind of been on a hiatus lately. Personal problems that I'm working on getting fixed as well as the fact that I lost my flashdrive with all my writing on it have really set me back. But I've been on a patriotic high since I got the news! I know I should feel bad that I'm happy someone is dead, but I'm not claiming to be a good person and Bin Laden can go fuck himself. Oh wait, no he can't. He's dead :D

I'm currently working on the next chapter to Dreamscape. We're getting really close to the big plot points! But here's just a short little oneshot about how I think America might have felt when he got the news. It's a little bit like how I felt, actually, but much stronger.

GOD BLESS AMERICA :DDD

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America was sitting at his desk in the UN building when he got the news.

He had been fastidiously going over his paperwork, preparing a big speech on the air strikes in Libya for the next meeting when the phone rang. He sighed heavily and picked it up, expecting it to be some office aide with a bit of information he wouldn't need to know until tomorrow at the earliest interrupting his work. But when he looked over at the desk phone, he was perplexed.

It wasn't ringing.

The sound was coming from the secure line on the wall, the one that connected his office directly to the White House. He picked it up, heart leaping to his throat as he ran through the possibilities in his mind. Another attack? Stock market Crash? Earth Quake? But these were all things he would have felt for himself, without having to be told. He put the receiver to his ear and out of the slight static he heard:

"Geronimo has been neutralized." A click was heard and the line went dead. Alfred held the receiver to his ear for moments that seemed to last for an eternity, the news slowlly working its way through every part of his mind. As he sat there, shell shocked and with a weird sense of _what next?,_ he thought of what this meant. Geronimo was the code name given to Osama Bin Laden, the most wanted terrorist on the planet.

And he was finally dead.

Just like that, the boogeyman-like figure that had haunted the nightmares of his people for ten years of diligent searching was gone. It was like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, but at the same time he didn't know what to do with himself. Through everything that had happened over the past decade, this man had never been far from the forefront of his mind. It had consumed him for a long time, this idea of revenge. Slowly it had turned into an obligation not only to his people, but to the world. Then, as the memory of the attacks faded but never really went away, it just became another thing he had to do. And now that it was over, he wasn't sure where to go from here.

Sure there was still the economy, the wars, the upcoming election, the job market, and a shit ton of other things he would have to take care of soon or risk going end up. But none of them had quite the heft that this had. It was beginning to dawn on him just what a momentous occaison this was, how important it was going to be to his people. Someone had to tell them, to let them process it so that they could feel this sense of coming out into the light after years of imprisonment that he was feeling.

He grabbed his bomber jacket and rocketed out of the room, leaving his paperwork unfinished on the desk and the phone swinging off the hook.

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Ivan Braginski had been enjoying a quiet evening in his hotel room after a meeting in New York. He had a fresh pot of tea brewed, his laptop open on the table in front of him, and he had found a nice little Russian restaurant that delivered. The meal had been welcome, if sub par compared to home cooking either by himself, or one of his sisters. He was just about to settle down and look up the news from home online when Alfred came bursting through the door, panting like he had run the whole way there. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Alfred cut him off.

"He's dead." Alfred whispered in an almost reverent way, as if he didn't truly believe it but really, really wanted to.

"Who's dead? You are not making sense!" Russia snapped. He was getting frustrated by this display of America's psychosis.

"Bin Laden."

Ah, that explained it. The man America had been hunting down for almost a decade, the very face of fear in his country. Even so much as mention September 11th and he would become just the slightest bit sadder and paler and would spend the next hour looking over his shoulder. It was amusing to watch, especially since he had once been the thing of America's nightmares. Luckily, he didn't end up going the same way as this human. And luckily, the human hadn't gone the same way as him. Though the thought of America and Bin Laden as lovers was very amusing. To him, at least. He didn't think America would share his amusement.

"Are you sure?" He asked, a bit skeptical. There had been numerous reports over the years that had all turned out to be false. So why now, after almost a decade, should he believe every claim that came through the grapevine.

"Of course I'm sure! My boss was the one who told me!" He snapped, obviously defensive. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the consipracy theorists came out of the woodwork and started duping gullible Americans with their insane claims. America's confidence in his victory would wane and he would eventually start to doubt himself. But not tonight, not so soon after the victory.

"Congratulations. I know how long you have been hoping for this." He told him, standing up from his chair and wrapping his arms around him. Alfred leaned against him, burying his face in Ivan's shoulder. His shoulders were shaking but there was no sound coming out of him. No sobs, no laughter. He was simply shaking like a leaf, taking courage and strength from his lover's arms. Ivan would give anything to know what he was thinking right now, what he could possibly be feeling. "Do you want to go out, solnyshko? Perhaps celebrate with a drink?" He asked.

For a moment Alfred didn't answer, taking deep breaths and just assuring himself that this was real. That it wasn't just wishful thinking and Bin Laden was still out there, roaming through his nightmares waiting to strike. It was like those first few years after the Cold War when he was always afraid he would wake up and Ivan would still be waiting to kill him and communism was creeping in from all sides to consume him alive. But, like the end of the Cold War, he would wake up tomorrow and it would still be real. And eventually he would wake up one morning and not even reamember that he was afraid in the first place.

When he finally did answer he looked up into Russia's eyes and smiled. It wasn't his usual over enthusiastic smile, or the mischeivious one that meant they were going to have a _very_ good time. This one was slow and soft and in some ways sad. For once he found that he couldn't read America like a book, noting every thought and emotion just from the way he stood or spoke or smiled. This moment was too complex to describe in any one thought or feeling. It had been ten years in the making and in all the ups and downs, the reaction had grown and built upon itself until the day finally came when it was time to show itself. And it was just as monumentous as the acheivement itself. He couldn't help but let it warm his heart a bit at how much Alfred let this effect him. He bent down and pecked Alfred's lips softly, supportively.

"I think drinks is a great idea, babe. Maybe it's hit the news and I can get us some free drinks out of it." He laughed, stepping back and wiping the tears that had gathered at this emotional moment out of his eyes. Were they tears of joy that he was dead? Frustration that the war was still raging and it took so long? Sadness over the memory of those fallen through the man's deeds? Who knew, maybe it was all of them. Maybe it was none. But if there was one thing he'd noticed about America and his people through the years of their love affair it was that when a moment like this came they all stood together and let the emotions sweep over them. Sometimes, they even used it to improve. But for better or worse, you could never say that they didn't care or that they forget the wrongs done them.

Ivan leaned over and kissed Alfred's cheek, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he led them out to the car. He knew that Alfred would need him in the days to come, when the news was politicized and his politicians started taking sides and tearing him apart from the insides. He knew that he would be weak to deception and despair. He knew that there was even a chance he would begin to have nightmares. But he would be here for him, for better or worse. Because this was not the Cold War. Ivan was allowed to be here for him this time.

"Ivan?" Alfred asked, soft and almost embarassed.

"Yes?" He answered back, squeezing his shoulders.

"Thank you." Ivan smiled sheepishly. Maybe America was more perceptive than he thought.

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That turned out more like a Newspaper article. B| So it's stuck between newspaper article and story and that is an awkward place to be. Fuck me L

Also, something I thought about at work today:

Bin Laden thought what he was doing was right, even though we've labled it as wrong. You can make the argument that it was wrong because it killed alot of people, but then I could point out that the wars in Afganistan and Iraq killed alot of people but at the time we started them, we thought it was the right thing to do. And even now when most people acknowledge that it was the wrong thing to do, it's mostly because of money and not because of death. While I personally agree that Bin Laden was wrong on all counts, what does this say about the concepts of right and wrong, good and evil?

Discuss


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